Failure To Communicate
by fauxpology
Summary: Nine scenes of Shawn and Hunter being emotionally retarded best friends, set in between Hunter's surgery and Shawn's return to the 'e.


**title:** Failure To Communicate  
**rating:** PG for swearing  
**summary:** Nine scenes of Shawn and Hunter being emotionally retarded best friends, set in between Hunter's surgery and Shawn's return to the 'e.  
**characters:** Shawn Michaels, Triple H, their wives  
**word count**: 1280  
**notes:** A Christmas present for bluerosefairy, who wanted Shawn/Hunter or genfic. I hope you like this :) Was intended to be a snippet, but quickly got out of hand. Not beta-ed. Some dialogue shamelessly taken off Stargate Atlantis 3x14.  
**disclaimer:** Any similarities between situations portrayed herein and actual events are purely coincidental unless stated otherwise. All characters, trademarks, product names, company names and logos cited herein are the property of their respective owners. No infringement intended, and no profits made.

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1.

Rebecca left a voicemail. "Hunter, this is Rebecca. I want to let you know - the surgery was a success. Shawn's fine."

He resisted the urge to call back and say, "What? They operated on his tongue, too?" but he knew his crankiness was due to the intense physical therapy session that had just chewed him up and spat him out.

He also knew he should return the call, but Shawn had told him, "If I go, I don't think I'll come back," and there were no words Hunter could say to that.

2.

Rebecca knew about the existence of the latest wedge in the Shawn-Hunter friendship even if she didn't know the reason why. However, instead of pressing him for answers her husband will never give, she kept sending him fuzzy images of the Hickenbottom family via cellphone, usually with accompanying text he's pretty sure are Bible verses. (He has to give her points for subtlety; Shawn's idea of witnessing, much like his wrestling style, involved hammering away at him until stopped struggling or fell unconscious.) Sneaky attempts at Jesusification aside, he appreciated Rebecca's gesture.

His favorite picture was Shawn, lying on the couch, Cheyenne sleeping on his chest. Shawn was staring at his daughter with such a mix of wonder and fear that Hunter wanted to shake him. Throw back the words Shawn had repeated like a mantra when Aurora was born: You'll be a great dad. Don't ever doubt that.

3.

Once, and only once, did he allow himself to wonder if it would take another four goddamn years and Kevin's intervention to get them talking again.

It pissed him off so much he almost screwed up his leg while in PT the next day.

4.

The world had swam into view, sterile and hushed, and he tried to rub the crust on his eyelids but his arms had apparently stopped working. He tried to look down and see what kind of horrific tragedy had befallen his limbs, but was distracted by a low-grade throbbing in his leg.

Oh. Right. He'd just been operated on.

There was a clothy rustle. He looked to his left and Shawn was sitting at his bedside, elbows propped on his knees and hands pressed together in a familiar gesture. He could barely make out Shawn's whispered, "Amen", before he looked up and stared right at Hunter. He looked exhausted and strained at the edges.

"Stephanie's outside with your parents," Shawn said, reading his mind. He leaned forward with a plastic cup and Hunter gratefully swallowed a spoonful of ice chips.

"Thanks."

Shawn grinned. "Standard operating procedure, remember?" He motioned to the door. "You want me to—"

"No, no," Hunter said. "Stay for a bit."

After a few minutes of silence broken only by the muted rumble of noise from outside, Hunter noticed the way Shawn had been sitting on the chair. Awkward, hunched, ass nearly hanging out of the seat – so unlike the usual loose-limbed and insouciant slouch that drove Vince crazy even after ten years.

"What's wrong?"

Shawn jerked up from his fascinated study of the bed sheets. "What— how—"

Hunter glared, or tried to. He had learned from past experience that he wasn't quite as intimidating in scrubs. "Just tell me, okay? I think the painkillers are wearing off."

And Shawn told him. Then he squeezed Hunter's arm, muttered something that didn't penetrate the sudden deafening buzz in Hunter's ears and fled.

Fucker planned that, Hunter remembered thinking viciously. Can't run after him and beat some sense into his thick skull while I'm incapacitated.

5.

A part of Hunter – the one that was seven years old and came up with the DX cock jokes and found them completely hilarious – had immediately taken what Shawn had said then and ran with it.

When Shawn had said "I've been thinking of retiring," that part had yelled, foot stamping on the ground and pouting, "But why are you leaving me?" The seven year-old boy in his head couldn't understand why his most favorite playmate had up and gone, left the best playground in the entire world. They had something special, damn it!

He told Stephanie all of this, one night after she had gotten fed up with his non-PT-related depression, and being the wonderful woman that she was, she didn't laugh and make fun of him.

Instead, she brushed a warm washcloth over his forehead and curled up closer around him on the bed.

Later, she said, "Talk to him," but how could Hunter even begin explain the suffocating knot, the shivery dread in his gut that was afraid of Shawn saying, "I'm tired of you"?

6.

He didn't miss him. How could he? At the company, it was as if the man was never gone.

Kendrick writhed on the mat after a takedown, selling so well that the guys standing by the monitors were wincing in sympathy. The edges of London's mouth curled up in the ghost of a smirk, the only flaw in the flawless mask of the underdog. Jeff Hardy harder, faster, higher, match after match, with something to prove and everything to risk. Even backstage, where he could glimpse Lance Cade's chaps in a tangle of legs and folding chairs.

No, Hunter didn't miss the incandescent, inimitable Shawn Michaels at all.

He did, however, miss his best friend.

7.

The trip down to OVW, which they had promised Vince they would do long before this current thing, whatever it is, had happened, was nothing short of excruciating.

Hunter had braced himself for a fight. Fighting with Shawn always involved words, a wave of them, tumbling out of Shawn's mouth, brutal and cathartic. In his mind, the snappy comebacks had already been formed, his rapier wit sharpened and ready to draw blood.

He wasn't prepared for the silence. Shawn got into the limo and Hunter had nothing to say. Shawn stared out the window and Hunter stared at his hands.

Being near Shawn, after all this time, was like being near the sun: silent, burning and, if he looked directly at him for too long, blinding. He wanted to bask in Shawn's warmth, but. No.

Thank God they reached their destination before Hunter could do something idiotic like hug him and never let go.

As they made their way through the men and women kicking, grappling and punching their way out of OVW, Hunter kept one eye on Shawn and felt a surge of _pleasepleaseplease_ so strong he almost vomited.

The car ride back to the airport was equally silent.

8.

It was when Hunter came back to Raw for his triumphant return and there was no word from Shawn, not even one stupid voicemail, that he finally snapped.

He stabbed '3' on his cellphone and when someone picked up, yelled, "I don't give a damn about your career. That's between you and whatever wrestling-related neurosis you've developed. But what I do care about is the fact that our goddamn friendship is falling apart because of it and, fuck, Shawn, you think that's all we are?" Shit, was that his voice faltering? "Fuck you," he gasped out, drained and weary of everything.

There was static at the other end. Then –

"Hunter—"

– and it was so good to hear that voice, gravelly and drawling and pained and well-loved, and Hunter sat abruptly down on the nearest chair, his world right side up again.

9.

The door to Vince's office swung open and a familiar pair of boots stepped out.

"Shawn."

"Hey, Hunter."

"How's the family?"

"Doing great. Getting bigger everyday."

"Steph and Aurora?"

"They're great." He cleared his throat. "Look, Shawn—"

And suddenly, he had an armful of Shawn, all scruffy beard and disreputable clothes. Shawn's face was pressed against the curve of his neck, and he was murmuring words, a lot of things Hunter wanted to hear, words Shawn needed to say.

Shawn muttered almost inaudibly, "We're good, right?"

Hunter gripped Shawn even tighter. "Yeah, yeah, of course."


End file.
